And So The Dance Begins
by rainbowpoptarts11
Summary: He never thought he would fall for anyone, much less someone like her.
1. Chapter 1

_1963_

She didn't know why this was happening. She was only a dancer, a performer. Somehow, however, she found herself struggling to breathe, her back pressed painfully against the stone wall of the building. Normally, the moonlight reflecting off the pavement of the alleyway would have entranced her, but now as she kicked and tried to plead for her life, the light was hidden by a towering shadow, and she was frightened. She tried to beg, the world 'please' on the tip of her tongue, but found she could make no sound; her airway was blocked. Despite the black of night impairing her sight, she knew her vision was beginning to darken, her thoughts growing hazy.

She kicked once more, her attempts weak as her body continued to fight for a breath of the chilly night air. The seconds ticked by, her attacker relentless. Why he had chosen her, she did not know. He had grabbed her from behind, dragging her into this deserted alleyway. The next minute or two consisted of her bolting away, or at least trying to, and she cried out for help. This earned her a stinging slap across the cheek and a grumbled, 'Be quiet'. A few seconds later and she was here, being strangled by a man she'd never seen before.

Through her haze, she felt herself falling, not quite attentive enough to keep herself upright. She hit the ground with a dull thud, her breathing labored as she gasped in breaths of precious oxygen. Her vision slowly focused, and she only just now noticed the grunts and smacks to her right. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, not able to focus on the two figures ruthlessly beating each other under the light of the moon as she went into a painful coughing fit.

She jumped as a strong hand wrapped itself around her upper arm, pulling her up and forcing her to stand.

"Wait!" She cried out in a futile attempt to wrench her arm away.

"Shut up and come with me," was her only whispered response before she was stumbling after them. She glanced over her shoulder at her attacker and the other man still rolling around in a series of growls and the occasional crash of their bodies against the wall. She didn't get to watch them long, for she was pulled around the corner, finally able to catch her balance as she followed this strange savior.


	2. Chapter 2

That was two weeks ago. It had been two weeks since these special agents had dragged her into this and informed her of their mission. She had cried, both the attack and the situation she'd been pulled into reducing her to an overwhelmed, trembling mess. She was in it now; there was no going back. The agents, an American by the name of Napoleon Solo and a Russian called Illya Kuryakin, had told her how they had been assigned to protect her. As it turns out, the man who'd attacked her that night was a spy, much like Solo and Kuryakin, though he was most definitely not working on the same side. Apparently, she'd been attacked as a warning. The organization who had hired the man wanted her grandfather - a scientist - to create some chemical. At least, that's how she understood it. The night of the assault, Illya had been the one to get the man away from her; Napoleon had pulled her away while her attacker was distracted.

There had been another woman waiting for them in the hotel room she'd been sharing with Illya. Her name was Gaby Teller. She hadn't been fond of this naïve little dancer who had intruded on their mission. Solo and Kuryakin had been assigned to protect Gaby first, and she didn't appreciate the sudden change. She was cold towards Amelie; she didn't want to run the risk that the agents would fail to keep their eyes on their main goal. Seeing as Gaby shared a room with Illya, it was decided that Amelie would stay with Napoleon. She was still overwhelmed by all of this; she really didn't want to have anything to do with it at all. She pleaded with them to let her go home, but they weren't having it. She'd even tried to run away, bolting down the hotel hallway the first chance she got. She didn't get far. No sooner had she rounded a corner than Illya had hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her back. She'd fought against him, rather poorly, and he'd simply picked her up, tossing her over his shoulder much like a sack of potatoes before turning and making his way back to the hotel room.

"You make things difficult," He stated flatly, accent thick.

She stayed silent, not knowing how to answer.

"Why do you run?" He continued. Still no answer. He set her down just outside the room.

"Do not run again."

He knocked on the door, and Napoleon answered, eyebrows raising.

"I see you've caught her."

Illya merely responded with a curt nod, nudging Amelie inside.

"She will not run again."


	3. Chapter 3

"Why am I here, again?"

"As of today, you're going undercover."

Amelie's gaze settled on the man she'd come to know as Napoleon Solo, his hand firmly resting on her waist, inconspicuous to the shoppers and owner of the small clothing shop, yet efficient in preventing her from running off.

"Why? I told you, I'm only a dancer; I'm not an agent!"

"Yes, well, if you would like to keep living, you'll do as we say," He replied almost nonchalantly, and she resisted the urge to cross her arms and huff like a little girl who's been forced to go shopping for unflattering school uniforms with her overly pushy mother.

"Ah, here we are," He decided upon a pale yellow sundress, pushing it into her arms and pointing her towards the changing room.

"Don't be long."

She glared over her shoulder at him, reluctantly stepping into the changing room.

She nearly gawked as she looked around the interior of the tiny room; the designs on the walls and door were just as ornate as the rest of the shop. She hung the dress up momentarily, only to begin pulling off her own dress. She laid it across the small seat, before grabbing the sundress and pulling it over her head. She examined herself in the mirror, not being able to help her small smile; she did look good. Her features were fine, delicate, not uncommon for a dancer such as herself.

She smoothed out the skirt before unlocking the door and stepping out. She wished Napoleon wouldn't stare her down so intently, and would not meet his gaze. The corners of his lips curved up in a smirk.

"I do have excellent taste,"

"Oh, hush-" She blurted out, rubbing her arm somewhat awkwardly. "I am incredibly uncomfortable at the moment..." She mused, mostly to herself.

If he heard her remark, he chose to ignore it.

"Here," He handed over another dress, and she took it.

"Aren't these rather expensive?" She glanced at the tag, nearly cringing at the high price.

"Don't you worry about that," He waved her off. "Go change."

This time she did huff as she retreated into the changing room.


End file.
